He Cooks. She Stews. It’s Love.

YOLANDA EDWARDS was at a friend’s house in Brooklyn for dinner when the hostess asked her to pull out a pot for boiling pasta. Ms. Edwards froze. As her friend looked at her in disbelief, she said she was not up to the job.

“I used to think I was a good cook,” said Ms. Edwards, an editor at the parenting magazine Cookie. “But my husband’s a kitchen bully. He’s so critical, I second-guess myself now.”

If there were a clinical diagnosis for her problem, it might be called beta cook disorder. Even though Ms. Edwards blithely prepared flank steak for dinner parties when she was in college, she is now married to someone who takes charge in the kitchen: an alpha cook.

“I have no problem admitting that I’m an alpha,” said her husband, Matthew Hranek, a photographer. “Yolanda wouldn’t know a corked bottle of wine if you put it in front of her. When we met, she had four days’ worth of dishes in her sink, most of which had what looked like black bean on them. Ever since then, I’ve cooked for her.”

But it can also mean putting up with small culinary humiliations and an unending patter of condescending remarks.

When Robin Henry, an interior designer, helps make dinner with her fiancé, Andrew Goldman, a writer, she endures his constant, conspicuous scrutiny.

“I’ll be standing there, sautéing onions, and I can feel him standing over my shoulder, staring down at the pot and gnashing his teeth,” Ms. Henry said. “He’ll say things like, ‘You should really turn that down now.’ ”

Ms. Henry relayed this — along with her feeling that she is expected to greet any meal he might make on an average weeknight with the equivalent of a marching band reception — with affection.

“It’s part of his charm,” she said. Like many betas, she seems to have made peace with her lower status. The only time bitterness crept into her voice was when she talked about the tasks her fiancé assigns her when she plays sous-chef.

“He’s like, ‘Great, yes, come cook with me.’ And then he gives me the take-the-chicken-out-of-the-package-and-rinse-it job,” she said.

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CHEF AND SOUS-CHEF Robin Henry gets the menial tasks while her fiancé, Andrew Goldman, supervises. His attitude, she says, is "part of his charm."Credit
Evan Sung for The New York Times

“I am like that,” Mr. Goldman agreed. “I wouldn’t blame Robin if she didn’t want to cook with me. I’ve caught myself. It’s not so much me telling her she’s doing something wrong. I think it’s just that she catches my glances.”

It was a nice fantasy while it lasted: rather than letting the lady of the house bear the constant burden of cooking dinner, the modern couple would share the work. Husbands would take an interest in casseroles. Wives would slap slabs of meat on the grill. They would read cookbooks and watch the Food Network together. The kitchen would be a peaceful domain equally ruled by two people.

For many couples, this never happened. Instead, wedged there in the kitchen together, they fell into a power dynamic just as unequal and emotionally fraught as the arrangement that puts the female half in a frilly apron. Instead of a partnership, some couples say that their relationship in the kitchen more closely resembles a tiny dictatorship.

This, of course, is the way it works in restaurants, where the chef’s authority is nearly absolute. It is somebody else’s job to peel the carrots. And that person is expected to peel the carrots without muttering bitterly under his breath. The top-down system helps to avoid chaos, speeds the process and enforces quality control. But at home that same system can have emotional consequences.

Suzanne Goin, the chef and owner of A.O.C. and Lucques in Los Angeles, is married to David Lentz, the chef and owner of the Hungry Cat in Hollywood. They are both alpha cooks, she said, but that has only been an issue on their nights off.

“In a professional kitchen you don’t really get your feelings hurt,” Ms. Goin said. “It’s a little different at home though. If David says, ‘Do you think this is a little salty?’ about something I made, I’ll be like: ‘No. Do you think it’s too salty? Maybe your palate’s off.’ ”

Rebecca Charles, the chef and owner of Pearl Oyster Bar in Greenwich Village and an admitted alpha, said: “Giving orders is fine in a professional environment, but at home it’s a little inappropriate. I can be a little bossy. Resentment can build, and before you know it you have a pot flying at your head and you don’t know why. Couples cooking together is probably the second leading cause of divorce next to home renovations.”

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Statistical evidence does not back her up, but therapists are all too familiar with marriages that run aground in the kitchen. “If there’s a power struggle, it will come out in cooking together,” said Dr. Marion F. Solomon, a couples therapist in Los Angeles. “If a person feels that they’re not recognized for their abilities in other areas, they can start to resent the partner who takes control in the kitchen.”

But couples who embrace their culinary inequality can still find happiness, Dr. Solomon said.

A year and a half ago, before marrying, Armistead Wilson, a teacher in Nashville, went to premarital counseling with her future husband, Edwin. It was there that she realized she felt guilty about letting Mr. Wilson do all the cooking.

“The counselor said I should just let it go,” Ms. Wilson said. “I did. And I’m happier for it. The only time I get even slightly frustrated now is when I’m excited about making something and he takes it over on the sly by showing me a better chopping technique, or by demonstrating how to flip an omelet in the pan. But I’m sure many meals have been saved by this intrusion.”

Dr. Solomon said that a couple can enjoy playing student and teacher in the kitchen “if one person doesn’t feel capable and the other loves to be a mentor.”

That situation sounds dreamy, but many beta cooks say that the alphas in their lives are not the most patient tutors. Amy Sedaris, author of “I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence,” says that whenever alphas and betas cook together, the alpha’s internal monologue goes something like this: “Stop bothering me with your questions. I don’t have time to show you how to chop an onion. If you can’t chop an onion, get out of my kitchen.”

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THE UPPERHAND Yolanda Edwards, cooking with her husband, Matthew Hranek, at their Brooklyn home, calls him a "kitchen bully."Credit
Evan Sung for The New York Times

Derek LaVallee, the wine columnist for The Hill, a Congressional newspaper, and a public relations executive in Washington, was only slightly more delicate with his wife, Vanessa. Mr. LaVallee loves to cook, and when they were first married, Ms. LaVallee thought that sharing his hobby with him might be fun. After all, before they were married the two had happily shared a tiny office in the Clinton White House.

It turned out that working in the White House was easier. “I can’t watch her cook,” Mr. LaVallee said. “I’d say things like, ‘I can’t believe you’re julienning the carrots that way!’ And then I’d think, ‘Did that really just come out of your mouth?’ ”

Ms. LaVallee, the adviser to the president of Georgetown University, now chooses to sit on the sideline with a glass of wine. The subject of cooking rarely comes up, except when the couple watch “Iron Chef.”

“She’ll say: ‘See? They work together. He delegates,’ ” Mr. LaVallee said. “And I’ll say, ‘Honey, if I had a team of professional chefs working for me I’d be happy to delegate.’ ”

There is evidence that alphas and betas are not born that way. Occasionally, somebody will live happily as a second-class kitchen citizen for years, only to emerge as a fully capable cook after the relationship ends. Lettie Teague, an editor at Food & Wine magazine, said she was content in her role as the beta in her marriage to the food writer Alan Richman. “I lived a beta cook’s life because Alan was so much the better cook,” she said. “I was the alpha cleaner. Sometimes I would clean up around him.”

Since they separated last year Ms. Teague has found herself cooking more, especially for company. And she is realizing what she might have been missing as keeper of the Palmolive. Guests don’t ask, Who got this silverware so shiny? With one hand on their belly, they praise the alpha. “There is huge ego gratification in making a good dinner,” Ms. Teague said.

If there was inequality in the Richman-Teague kitchen, it left no apparent scars. The two remain friendly. “Long-term problems are caused by money and things like that,” Mr. Richman said. “Fights over cooking only cause loathing between couples for two to four days.” He did add, though, that when there is a male alpha in the kitchen, there’s very little anyone can do to alter the dynamic.

“Men have gotten better at cooking, and that’s all positive,” Mr. Richman said. “But men can’t share. If you can find a man who’s O.K. with a woman being in charge in the kitchen, tell any woman to marry him immediately.”

So, over time, an embattled beta will find ways to level the playing field, ways that do not involve wresting the meat thermometer from the alpha’s hand. This is the case with Ms. Edwards, who may have lost the ability to choose a pasta pot when put on the spot, but who has carved out a particular position of power of her own.

For one, she makes oatmeal and eggs that her 3-year-old daughter prefers to anything her husband cooks.

She also discovered the beta’s best weapon, and the secret to living with an alpha cook: criticism. An alpha is nothing without a beta.

“I couldn’t strive to be good without her,” said Mr. Hranek, her husband. “If she’s not happy with the food, I’m devastated.”